


Autumn Came With Wind & Gold

by secretsidgenowriter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Non hockey au, post retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 07:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16868788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsidgenowriter/pseuds/secretsidgenowriter
Summary: Autumn Prompts





	1. Hot Chocolate

It starts with Sid licking chocolate off his fingers on the team plane.

Geno is fully invested in the poker game unfolding in front of him and the cards in his hand.

Distantly, he can hear some of the guys further up the cabin bickering among themselves as they play their video games. Closer, Tanger, Phil, and Brassy are shit talking each other as they raise the stakes and Geno smiles at a particularly brutal exchange that leaves Phil sputtering through his comeback.

Geno makes the mistake of lifting his eyes off his cards and looking over Tangier’s shoulder. Sid’s sitting behind him with his phone in one hand and a peanut butter cup in the other.

He’s clearly distracted by whatever is on the screen, brows furrowed and lips pursed, so he doesn’t notice the chocolate melting between his fingers.

Geno clutches his cards as Sid puts his phone down and pops the peanut butter cup in his mouth. He chews for a moment then sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks off the melted chocolate that was left behind. His tongue peeks out from the corner of his lips, curling around the pad of his thumb, cheeks hollowing briefly before Sid looks up and meets Geno’s eyes. And smiles.

Geno sets his cards down and clears his throat, shifting in his seat.

“I fold,” he says and when he looks back up Sid’s looking back at his phone.

-

Sid’s room is six doors down from his own. Geno watches him slide the keycard into the lock from his own doorway and waits for Sid to look over, to give him another sign.

Sid hefts his bag further up on his shoulder and at the last possible second before he disappears into the room he glances over and raises his eyebrows.

Geno is definitely not going out to dinner tonight.

-

Once the rest of the group leaves for dinner Geno runs down to the convenience store around the corner from the hotel.

After a quick search he finds what he needs and ignores the questioning look from the cashier before he heads back up to their floor.

Sid opens the door like he’s been waiting for him and Geno drops the bag in his hand in favor of cupping Sid’s face and hauling him in for a kiss.

They’ve only done this a handful of times before but when Sid pushes him back against the door and slots their thighs together it feels like the hundredth time.

“What took you so long,” Sid asks as he slides his lips down the side of Geno’s neck, hands scrambling to unzip Geno’s jacket. “The guys left forever ago.”

“Had to go to the store,” Geno pants out as Sid abandons the jacket in favor of unbuttoning Geno’s jeans. “Had to get something.”

“I have condoms,” Sid says and Geno shakes his head and sets his hands on Sid’s shoulders to hold him back.

This would be over before it even started if he didn’t.

“Not condoms,” Geno says as soon as he gets his breathing under control. He bends down to grab the bag and pulls out the jar of hot fudge topping. “You have microwave in here?”

Sid’s hesitant at first, just as Geno thought he would be.

He thinks it’s going to be messy and maybe a little embarrassing and he’s terrified of getting it on the sheets because “I have to sleep on these tonight, G, we have a game tomorrow.”

But, he changes his mind as soon as Geno smears the first streak of hot chocolate across Sid’s bare chest with his finger and follows it quickly with his tongue.

“Oh,” Sid says, breathless after Geno leaves and licks a little more off Sid’s collarbone and the dip of abs and the sharp cut of his hips.

“Feels good,” Geno asks, looking up as he carefully bites at the soft skin just below Sid’s belly button. “You like?”

“I’m.” Sid stops and presses his lips together and Geno watches, completely entranced as Sid’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows.

Geno darts up and presses his sugar laced lips to Sid’s neck, feels him gasp and arch beneath him. “You change your mind,” Geno asks as he nips lightly at Sid’s earlobe. “Is good idea? Always have best ideas.”

He’s getting cocky and he knows Sid won’t stand for it for very long. Thankfully, that’s just what Geno is hoping for and Sid, never one to let him down in any aspect of his life, responds beautifully.

He easily rolls Geno off of him and climbs on top and Geno looks up at clear, pale skin dotted with rosy red bite marks and beard burn.

“Your turn,” Sid says and plucks the jar from Geno’s hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Geno levels off another half teaspoon of cardamom and dumps it into the bowl with the flour, baking soda, cloves and the nutmeg. After a moment of hesitation he adds another quarter teaspoon more.

It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong but it’s one of the few things he hasn’t tried yet. He adds ginger and cinnamon and salt to the mixture before he slowly adds it to the beaten butter, brown sugar, honey and egg.

He turns on the electric mixer and the gentle hum drowns out the sound of Sid padding gently down the stairs and into the kitchen behind him.

Arms wrap around Geno’s middle and Geno’s hand slips as the beaters bang against the side of the bowl.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Sid says as he presses his face into the soft fabric of Geno’s over washed t-shirt, right between his shoulder blades.

“Didn’t scare,” Geno says and he feels Sid laugh, Sid’s chest rising and falling rapidly against his back. “Just surprise. Didn’t mean to wake.”

“You didn’t. I woke up on my own and you weren’t there. It’s so early, did you ever even come to bed?”

Sid sounds like he’s pouting and Geno shuts the mixer off and rubs his hand back and forth over Sid’s forearms.

“What are you doing,” Sid asks and Geno unwinds his arms and pulls Sid around so he’s standing in front of him.

Sid’s hair is mussed and there are pillow lines across his face. Geno leans down and presses a kiss across the line on his cheek.

“Baking,” he says when he pulls back and Sid looks around their kitchen at the dozens and dozens of cookies cooking on racks on every surface.

“For how many people?”

Geno shrugs. “Have to make test batches.”

It’s something he does with all his recipes, even the ones he’s made time and time again. The idea of selling something less than perfect at the bakery makes his skin crawl.

“Yeah,” Sid says, “But so many?”

“Can’t get right. Making pryaniki, want them to taste like I have back home, you know? Like mama make.” He shakes his head. “Can’t make them taste the same.”

“Can you ask her for the recipe?”

“Is her recipe,” Geno says, miserably, as he leans forward and rests his forehead on Sid’s shoulder. “I follow exactly. Is like she left something out.”

Sid runs his hand down the middle of Geno’s back. “She wouldn’t do that, would she?”

Geno huffs out a laugh. “Don’t know, mama.”

And Sid doesn’t.

He doesn’t know either of Geno’s parents.

They’re relationship was a whirlwind, met and married in under a year, something Mama Malkin didn’t appreciate.

“Honestly, Zhenya…” She huffed at him over the phone. “I’ve seen you work on recipes for longer. Think about what you’re doing.”

Geno did think about it. He thought there wasn’t a need to poke and prod at Sid, to pick him apart and try to build him back up again into something better. Sid was already perfect and Geno had always been taught not to mess with perfection.

“Driving me crazy,” Geno says and Sid cards his fingers through Geno’s hair.

“Let me help,” Sid asks and Geno nods.

Sid takes a small bite from a cookie from each batch and together they figure out what works and what doesn’t. Batch four has too much nutmeg and batch two not enough. Batch three has too much honey and batch five has too much cinnamon and ginger.

Sid tastes the raw dough in the bowl that Geno was working on and wrinkles his nose.

“Too much cardamom, I know, I know.”

Sid smiles and leans in for a kiss.

The sun is just starting to come up by the time they hit the mark with a recipe that’s very similar to the one Geno’s mother sent over.

“What do you think did it,” Sid asks as he takes another bite of the winning batch. “It’s basically the same.”

Geno shrugs and puts his hand up so he can drag Sid down on the floor beside him. He’s exhausted from staying up all night and even the sugar and honey from the cookies that he’s eaten isn’t enough to keep him on his feet.

“Love,” Geno says as he wraps his arm around Sid’s shoulders and Sid furrows his brows. “Make with you,” he continues, “made with love. Is perfect.”

Sid frowns then he rolls his eyes and laughs. “You’re such a dork,” he says but he snuggles further into Geno’s side and Geno tips his head back against the cabinets and shuts his eyes.


	3. Apple Cider

“Papa, here. I’m done.”

Daria pushes the paper cup full of cider she’s been drinking from towards Geno, taking off across the room to play with her friends before making sure he actually has a hold of it.

The cider splashes over the edge and onto his hand, sweet and sticky, and he shuffles his feet out of the way just before it drips onto his dress shoes.

“Dasha,” he calls after her, scolding as gently as he can in a public place, and she stops on a dime, skidding a bit in her well worn play shoes, and turns.

“Papa,” she asks, eyes wide and innocent and Geno is helpless to do anything other than wave her along so she can have have fun.

Geno sets down the cup on the corner of the table and is reaching for the stack of napkins when someone intercepts and holds one out of him.

“Mr. Malkin,” a voice says and Geno grunts as he takes the offered napkin and wipes at his hand.

“Yes,” Geno answers. He looks up and blinks. The man in front of him is handsome, beautiful, he thinks instead with thick black hair and a fading summer tan. His features are wide and clear and and his shoulders are broad and even though Geno’s not sure who he is, he’s the best thing he’s seen in this tiny town.

“Mr. Malkin,” the man says again and Geno realizes he’s holding out his hand. He probably has been this whole time and he just didn’t notice and if he leaves it there for a minute longer things are going to get awkward. He needs to shake his hand.

Instead, Geno clutches the napkin and looks to the floor.

“Spilled,” he says, and then “sorry. Will clean.”

“Oh,” the man says waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry.”

“Gonna be sticky,” Geno says and then feels like tucking and rolling beneath the table and letting the fall themed table cloth hide him.

“Don’t worry, really. The floor is always sticky with something. I feel like I spend the majority of my day cleaning up peanut butter or jam or glue or chocolate milk. It’s no big deal.”

“You clean,” Geno asks and then glances down at the name tag that’s stuck to the front of his sweater.

_Sidney Crosby._

And then everything falls into place.

“You Daria’s teacher.”

“Yes, that’s me. It’s really nice to meet you.”

When Geno was a boy all of his teachers were older and on the borderline of being terrifying. None of them ever looked like this.

“I’m so glad you could come tonight,” Mr. Crosby says, “I didn’t get your RSVP so I wasn’t sure…”

Geno winces. He lost track of the RSVP for the open house somewhere between unpacking the dinnerware in the kitchen Daria’s toys in her room.

“Lose,” he says. “New house. Lost keys for hour yesterday because I didn’t put them on hook right away when I come home. Is okay that I’m here, yes?”

“Yes, of course. I was hoping you’d be here so I could tell you what a great kid Daria is. But I’m sure you already know that,” Mr. Crosby quickly says.

“I know,” Geno says, swelling up with pride. “She’s amazing.” He frowns and Sid mirrors him, confused at the sudden sway in mood. “I worry.”

Sid tips his head to the side. “About what?”

“She new kid. Her English is….” He wiggles his hand back and forth. “Think maybe I speak too much Russian at home.”

“No,” Sid says. “You don’t have to worry about any of that. Do you know how many languages this kids speak in here? I feel like the odd man out more often than not. She’s going to be coming home and mixing in some French and Swedish and the other kids are going to be going home with Russian. She’s made a ton of friends already. Just look at her.”

Geno turns and watches his daughter animatedly chatting with a group of her classmates. She looks happy.

“She’s going to be fine. And if anything should happen I'll give you a call.”

“Think I would like that.”

Sid smiles. “Is your wife here? I’d like to meet her.”

Geno feels himself pale. “She’s uh….not here. Won’t be here. Is just me and Daria.”

“Oh,” Mr. Crosby says, looking very much like he just stepped in it and is desperately looking for a way out. “I didn’t know. Daria talks about her a lot and I just…” He trails off and Geno understands.

It’s still new. Daria still thinks she’s coming back and Geno hasn’t quite found a way to explain to her that her mother went and fell in love with Geno’s best friend and they hightailed it back to Russia and Geno, still reeling from a broken heart, moved the two of them as far from their old life as possible.

He hasn’t figured out a way to tell Daria and he certainly hasn’t figured out a way to tell Daria’s handsome teacher his tragic life story at an open house.

“She still adjusting. Might take some time. But no, no wife.”

“Okay,” Mr. Crosby says slowly. “I’m sorry?”

Geno laughs and Mr. Crosby looks even more apologetic. “Is okay. Thank you for sorry but is really okay. We’ll be okay.”

“Okay, well…okay. Then I hope we’ll see you and Daria at the fall festival in a few weeks.”

Geno saw the pamphlet that Daria brought home earlier in the week but he’s pretty sure he’s already lost it.

He wasn’t planning on going anyway but now with Mr. Crosby looking at him like he expects him to be there…he might be reconsidering.

“Don’t know,” Geno says as he rubs his hand against the back of his neck. “Don’t really know anyone.”

“It’s a great time to get to know people. All the parents are really nice and welcoming and there’s plenty of activities to keep the both of you entertained.”

“Will think about it,” Geno says even though his mind is almost already made up.

“Well I hope you come,” Mr. Crosby says and then he hesitates before he touches Geno’s forearm and peeks up at him through his lashes. “I hope to see you there.”

Geno’s been out of the game for awhile now but he knows what flirting looks like and this is it.

“Okay,” he stutters. “I come. We both come.”

“Good,” Mr. Crosby says. “I’m glad.”

Geno nods, dumbly, as Mr. Crosby starts to move off because Geno’s sure there are other parents who would like a moment of his time.

“Oh,” Geno calls out, “Mr. Crosby. Can I have another pamphlet. Might have lost it, you know, how kind of crazy right now unpacking and moving in.”

Mr. Crosby nods, like he really does understand. “I have your email,” he says, “I’ll send you a copy. This way it doesn’t get misplaced.”

Geno blushes and nods. “Thank you.”

Mr. Crosby nods back but before he turns away he says “you can call me Sid, by the way.”

“Can call me Geno,” he says as he sticks his hand out again, like they need to reintroduce themselves formally. He feels foolish but before he can pull his hand back Sid is taking it.

“Geno,” he says, voice warm, “it’s nice to meet you.”

 


	4. Chill

Sid wakes up with Geno’s cold nose pressed to the nape of his neck.

The temperature dipped during the night and even though the covers are pulled up to their chins and their legs are tangled together, Sid can still feel the chill in the air.

It’s too early for snow but it’s right around the corner. Soon they’ll wake up to a blanket of white outside but for now it’s a world of bright oranges and reds and falling leaves.

Behind him, Geno presses a lazy kiss to his neck before Sid starts to roll away.

“Come back,” Geno mumbles, “cold.”

“I know,” Sid says. “You left the window open last night.”

“Was plan,” Geno says as he wraps his arm a little more tightly around Sid’s waist, pinning him in bed. “Keep you here.”

“I need coffee. We have practice.”

Geno kisses him again, open mouthed this time and hot and Sid relaxes back into his grip.

“See,” Geno says. “Is working.”

Sid sighs happily and shuts his eyes.

“Ten more minutes,” he whispers softly, already falling back to sleep.

He can feel the outline of Geno’s smile against his skin.


	5. Cinnamon

“Who hands out _Red Hots_ to kids on Halloween,” Tanger asks as he circles the room, passing out the leftover candy from Alex’s Trick-Or-Treating. Apparently he got quite the haul this year and there’s only so much a kid can eat. “I mean, what the fuck. In my neighborhood it should be king sized candy bars or bust.”

“Candy snob,” Geno says as Tanger stops in front of him. He laughs as Tanger starts to move on, feigning offense, and makes a grab for the bag. “I take. Don’t have to whine anymore.”

“A real team player,” Tanger tells him as Geno stacks the fun sized boxes into his hand.

Sid watches Geno set the boxes down on the bench beside him before he tears one open and tilts his head back to dump all the candies in his mouth at once.

He can almost smell the cinnamon from where he’s sitting all the way across the room.

If Sid were to cross the distance between them right now and kiss him, it would be all that he would taste. It would be sharp and spicy—a warm heat that spreads across his tongue and lingers…

Sid would kiss him with his fingers threaded through Geno’s hair and his tongue dipping into his mouth. Slow and through and soft and sweet. He’d kiss him until the cinnamon flavor was gone and the only thing he could taste would be Geno. Black tea and jam. Fierce loyalty and a quick temper. They’d kiss until their lips were stained red from more than just the candy coating and—-

“Sid. Hey.”

Sid blinks and looks away from Geno who is opening up his second box between lacing up his skates.

Tanger is standing in front of him holding the bag out.

“You still with us. Looks like you spaced out.”

“I’m fine,” Sid says as he waves his hand. “I’m good.”

“You sure? There are some Reese’s at the bottom.”

Sid shakes his head. “I’m good. No thanks.”

Tanger shrugs and moves on and Sid gets ready for morning practice, trying to push the thoughts of Geno from his mind. He needs to focus.

The guys file out one by one until it’s only him and Geno.

“Here,” Geno says as he tosses something across the room.

Sid catches it one handed, a small individually wrapped Reese’s Cup.

“I said I didn’t want any.”

Geno rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He’s sitting with his leg splayed out in front of him and a lazy smile on his face.

“Know you always want,” he says, “should just take.”

Sid drops the chocolate to the bench beside him and stands, crossing the room in three quick strides.

Geno’s ready for him and when they kiss Sid tastes cinnamon and the promise of _more_.


	6. Orchard

“It’s stupid,” Sid says as Geno hooks his chin over Sid’s shoulder to see the laptop screen.

Geno already knows what Sid’s looking at. It’s the same thing he’s always looking at. The sprawling hundred acre orchard an hour outside of Pittsburgh that’s been on the market for the last six months. Sid’s been pining over it for just as long but pretending he’s not.

It needs a lot of work. The farmhouse is run down. Needs a new roof and updated plumbing and electricity. The land hasn’t been worked in decades and there’s a barn that’s being held up by a handful of 2x4s and prayers. It’s a disaster but the bones are there and they’re beautiful.

It is not stupid.

Mainly because Geno doesn’t believe for one minute Sid thinks that it is.

It’s the kind of place you settle down in. Put down roots, both literally and figuratively. It’s the kind of place to start a business, a family. It’s the kind of place Geno always imagined that Sid would end up. He likes wide open spaces and privacy. Fresh air and grass beneath his feet. He’s useless in the city but that’s where Geno flourishes. He likes being close to restaurants and his friends. He likes the noise of it and how busy it always it.

Geno thought that would drive a wedge between them. When they didn’t have hockey to keep them together he thought–feared–that there would be nothing left and Sid would take off to Canada and he would leave for Miami or Moscow and that would be it.

But now, two years after their final game, they’re still playing house in Sid’s Sewickley Estate.

It’s home. But there’s more out there. Geno can feel it.

Geno hums as Sid clicks through the photos. The wood stove in the kitchen and the fireplace in the living room. The root cellar and the wrap around porch. All that land without a neighbor in sight.

“Stupid,” Sid says quietly to himself, like he’s the one he has to convince, as he closes the window and then the laptop. He leans back and twists his neck so he can press a kiss to Geno’s jaw. “I’m going to bed. You’ll be up soon?”

Geno nods and rubs his hand across Sid’s shoulders. “Going to clean up first. Don’t want to wash dishes in morning.”

“So responsible,” Sid says and Geno swats him on the ass on his way out of the room.

He listens to Sid’s footsteps get fainter and fainter as he climbs the stairs and when he hears him clear the top landing he flips open the laptop, finds the link to the realtor on the page, and fires off an email.

-

“So stupid,” Sid says as he shakes his head. “So fucking stupid.”

Geno jams his hands in the pocket of his jeans and shrugs, rocking forward and then back on his feet, toe to heel.

“You don’t make a move so I swoop in.” He pulls his hands free and spreads his arms wide. From where they’re standing in the driveway it looks like the house is sitting on his shoulders. He doesn’t miss the symbolism. “You think this stay on market forever?”

On queue one of the front shutters swings off its hinges and bangs against the siding.

“Little thing,” Geno says, pinching his thumb and index finger together. “Easy fix.”

Sid sighs then makes his way toward the house.

His foot goes through the rotted wood on the bottom step of the deck and he flings his arm out for the railing at the same time Geno wraps his arm around his waist.

“Two little things,” Geno says. “Don’t worry, just imagine.” He tips toes carefully around the visibly weaker parts of the desk. “Just think–.” He sweeps his arms towards the front door. “New paint, something bright. Maybe red, very nice. New windows, new shutters, maybe front porch swing over here,” he says as he points to the corner of the desk. He sees flower boxes and a cat sleeping on the railing, a dog sleeping beneath their feet. Apple and peach trees. Christmas lights and snow covered boots left by the front door. His and Sid’s and a smaller pair. Maybe a few small pairs. He sees a future.

“Will be good,” Geno says. “Promise. You see?”

Sid shakes his head but then it turns into a nod. “Stupid,” he says softly, but his eyes are shiny and bright.

Geno reaches for him and Sid reaches back.

-

“You think we need help?”

Geno gives a long, hard look at the lumber in the back of the truck, both newly purchased. “Be fine.”

Sid rolls his eyes but doesn’t push it.

Geno wants them to do this themselves. They have nothing but time. They have no other commitments. If this is where they’re going to be for the rest of their lives he wants it to be exactly how they want it.

“We’re not doing the electricity or the plumbing,” Sid says, putting his foot down as he climbs into the bed of the pick-up to help slide the wood out. He’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, sweating slightly in the summer sun. He has a farmers tan and work gloves and heavy boots on his feet. If the house falls down around them with the first nail they hammer in it’ll be worth if for this image. “We’re not doing the cable either. What are you smiling at?”

“You,” Geno says, squinting into the sun. “Look cute.”

Sid’s face scrunches. “Shut up,” he says but Geno knows the pink spreading across his cheeks has nothing to do with the heat.

-

For weeks they sleep on a mattress on the floor.

“I don’t see the point in assembling a bed frame if we’re just going to have to disassemble it when we redo the floors,” Sid explains as he parachutes the fitted sheet over the mattress, trying the make the bed on his own. It ends up in a ball in the middle and he tips his head back and groans. “Nothing is easy in this house, is it?”

Geno leans over the center of the mattress and finds the long side of the sheet.

Together they get the bed made.

They sleep with the windows open and a warm breeze and the sound of crickets and tree frogs floating in.

There’s no curtains on the windows, yet, and Geno sleeps exclusively on his side so he can watch the moonlight spread over Sid’s skin.

At one thirty it’s high enough to reach the top of his head like a halo. Sid’s had grays since he turned thirty, just a sprinkling, just enough to give him a hard time about. He’s steadily gone salt and pepper in the past few years but now, in the moonlight, it’s like Geno’s looking at him in twenty years time, still sleeping beside him, chest rising and falling as he breathes.

Geno kisses his temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.

Sid stirs, eyebrows knitting together and tongue darting out to wet his lips. “What? Early, go to sleep.” He pats his hand blindly in Geno’s direction and scrunches his nose. “Go sleep.”

Geno laughs as fondness bubbles over in his heart and when Sid’s mouth pulls up at the corners Geno makes his move.

He pulls up the covers and slides over him, knees digging into the mattress beside Sid’s thighs.

Sid hums, eyes still closed, as he rests his hands on Geno’s waist, curling his fingers into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I love you,” Geno says and Sid hums again.

“Right now? It’s the middle of the night.”

Geno drops a kiss to the side of Sid’s neck then drags his lips down his skin. “Always,” Geno says and Sid slides his hand up to cup Geno’s cheek and guide him in for a real kiss.

-

They spend a whole day staring at the barn trying to figure out what to do with it while the plumber and electrician take over the house.

“We could just tear it down,” Sid says and Geno nods.

“Buy new one. They move in on big trucks. All in one piece. See them on highway sometimes. Looks cool.”

“Why do we need another barn?”

“Goats,” Geno says like it’s obvious and judging by the look on Sid’s face it’s not. “Need some place to sleep.”

“Goats,” Sid says slowly. “Why goats?”

Geno shrugs. “Why not? Very cute. Little ones wear little sweaters.”

Sid stares at him, mouth agape. “Are you fucking with me? Goat?”

“Goats, horses. Maybe chickens.” He slaps the back of his hand against Sid’s arm. “Maybe cow.”

“You’ve got a lot of plans for this place, don’t you?”

Geno shrugs. “Is why we moved here, isn’t it?”

Sid looks back towards the barn and sighs. “Goats,” he says and Geno smiles and ruffles his hair.

-

Things come together slowly.

The floors and the paint and the shutters and the back splash in the kitchen.

They buy a swing and eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner out on the porch with Geno using his foot to control how gently they sway back and forth. Sid has a wine glass in his hand and his head on Geno’s shoulder as the sun goes down and the mosquitoes come out.

“This is nice,” Sid says as Geno swats at a bug that’s buzzing by his ear. “Not the bugs. Everything else. It looks nice.”

Geno thinks it’s the first time Sid’s said that out loud but he doesn’t point that out. He just wraps his arm around Sid’s shoulders and pulls him tighter against his side.

-

The weather starts to cool and the leaves start to change.

They haven’t even begun to think about the orchards and how to maintain them but nature rolls on without them.

Geno plucks a bright red apple off the tree and gives it to Sid.

“Hold,” he says as he forces the apple up by Sid’s face like he’s holding up puck after a game. “Want to take picture and send it to Tanger.”

Sid smiles wide then mimes like he’s going to take a bite and Geno laughs at his good mood and fires off half a dozen texts.

Tanger in turn, sends them matching flannel shirts.

 _Happy farming!!!!_ The note reads and Sid drops it onto the kitchen table next to the box.

They’re high end, not that they would expect anything less from Tanger, and thick and soft.

Geno pulls his on over his shirt then holds Sid’s out to him.

“Come on,” he says as he shakes the fabric. “Is really nice. Have to send Tanger thank you note. Maybe box of apples.”

“We’re going to look so dorky if we match,” Sid complains but he slips his arms into the sleeves anyways and lets Geno spin him around so he can button it up.

“Look nice,” Geno says and Sid catches him off guard as he grabs him by his open shirt tails and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s harder than Geno expected it to be and he loses his balance as Sid pushes him against the wall.

“Did I ever thank you,” Sid asks when he pulls away. “I never thanked you for all this, did I?”

“Thank me all the time.”

“But I never said it, for all this, and not just the house. I mean you and me. You picked me and I just–.”

Geno cuts him off with a kiss. He cups his jaw, stubble scratching against his palm.

“You getting sappy in old age,” Geno says and Sid pushes him away with a laugh.

“Fuck you, I’m not old. You’re older.”

“I’m already sappy.” He kisses Sid’s forehead and then remembers. “Sap. Should tap trees for syrup. Very Canadian. Think you like.”

Sid sighs happily and wraps his arms around Geno’s waist and rests his head over Geno’s heart.

“I think I’ll love it.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [ here.](https://secret-sidgeno-writer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
